


A Fall from Grace

by Owwwwl



Series: Twilight Backstories Reimagined [1]
Category: Twilight Series - All Media Types, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Backstory, Gen, Historical, London, Religious Content, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:08:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26143882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Owwwwl/pseuds/Owwwwl
Summary: London is a troublesome city in the 1660s, thronging with religious and political tensions. Follow Carlisle Cullen, son of an Anglican pastor, as he becomes what he swore to destroy: a vampire.In other words, your author changes, spices up and fleshes out the back stories of all the Cullens, starting with our favorite DILF, Carlisle.
Series: Twilight Backstories Reimagined [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1898479
Comments: 1





	A Fall from Grace

**Carlisle**

“Finally! Some order in this nation!” Carlisle’s father said boisterously as he walked through the door to their house. Carlisle, a few months shy of his twenty-first birthday, looked up from the bible he was studying and raised an eyebrow.

“Thee Stuarts are back on the throne! The Commonwealth is done for!” his face was beet red as he answered Carlisle’s unspoken question. He paced the length of their modest house, and aggressively unbuttoned his coat. 

“Charles the second is King?” Carlisle confirmed. To be honest, he was quite indifferent to the tumultuous political state of England. Of course he knew the names, the conflicts. No one who spoke the English language hadn’t heard the name Cromwell recently, and his father just wouldn’t stop talking about what he called the “plague of the Catholics.”

“ Yes, boy. Are you even listening?” His father coughed into his sleeve and took a few heavy breaths, hand pressed against his chest. His face was turning an unattractive purple.

“We need a monarchy, son. People are sinners at heart, and Satan lurks around every corner. Only a strong King can help save us all from the sulfuric pits of hell, you understand?”

Carlisle understood. “Yes, father,” he replied.

“ Smart boy. Now I’m going to go over to the church. The people need a sermon. Stay here and chop some wood for me, I can preach to you specifically later.”

“Yes, father,” Carlisle repeated as his father re-buttoned his coat, and was out the doorway once more. 

Carlisle’s father, Peter Cullen, was a hard, pious man. His life didn’t just revolve around the church, his life  _ was _ the church. He had a fire-and-brimstone style in his teachings, and despite what Carlisle believed to be a certain holiness and fear-of-the-lord residing in the man, his ideologies didn’t exactly translate into great parenting. His mother, Abigail, had died in childbirth with him, and according to the ladies at church, she was a sweet young girl whose optimism balanced out his father’s cynicism. Unfortunately, Carlisle never got to see that balancing act.

He got up from his seat, reminding himself that idle hands are the devil’s workshop, and walked outside to do his father’s bidding.

As normal, he braced himself for the pungent stench of the London streets before stepping over the threshold. The streets were coated in a layer of sewage, horse feces, and mud, and the light rain that seemed to always hang over the city loosened the substance into a repulsive runny goo that tracked footprints everywhere. Men, women, and children alike begged on the streets, filthy and as thin twigs, and not for the first time, Carlisle wondered why God had forsaken them so. And, for that matter, why couldn't they help these suffering people like Christ helped the lepers and the blind and the hungry. His father never failed to respond as follows:

“If God rewards the good, he also must punish the bad. They suffer because it is the only way to reform their tainted souls.”

Carlisle would then think of the children he saw on the streets, eyes wide and red, faces streaked with dirt. Excepting Original Sin, which was resolved in baptism, how could people that young truly be so sinful? He always kept these thoughts to himself, never daring to challenge his father, and decided to give them some leftover food and coal whenever he could. Maybe his kindness would help them in their path to redemption.

He grabbed an axe, placed a log, and split the wood with a loud  _ crack!  _ The air was cool and heavy, and the wind ran across his face. He repeated the process, letting his thoughts wander (but not too far, for an idle mind is the devil's playground).

Carlisle’s father was constantly trying to push matrimony onto him, telling him of bloodlines and duties, but he couldn’t help but feel there was more to marriage than that. He wanted to fall in love with a lady, court her, win her affections. He wanted to glow with pride as she grew with children, smile fondly when he came home to her each evening. But perhaps he was being too selfish, too greedy with such a wish. Yes, perhaps that was so.

His father had been pushing Carlisle towards a girl by the name of Margaret Thompson. She was quite a few years younger than him, with mousy brown hair and a childish look about her. He said she was a good girl, a meek and obedient one, if a little retarded. Carlisle made a face and he brought the axe down once more. If he was going to marry someone he wasn’t in love with, he would at least like to marry someone he saw as his equal. His father thought the very idea was preposterous. 

A  passage from the book of Ecclesiastes popped into his head: "Two are better than one because they have a good reward for their labor. For if they fall, the one will lift up his fellow; but woe to him that is alone when he falleth, and hath not another to lift him up. Again, if two lie together, then they have warmth; but how can one be warm alone? And if a man prevail against him that is alone, two shall withstand him; and a threefold cord is not quickly broken.”

He couldn’t help but wonder, would his father pick him up if need be? He would pick up his father, but a small dark part of him doubted his father would do the same for him. And a very large part of him shamefully thought that Margaret Thompson wouldn’t have the means to either lift him up, keep him warm, aid him in withstanding an enemy.

_ Crrrack!  _ Another piece of wood split.

Anyway, he knew God had a divine plan for him, and he had no doubt he would make it work with whomever he ended up marrying as long as she were godly. 

He wiped the sheen of sweat off his forehead with the back of his wrist and determined enough wood had been cut. He had gone nose blind to London’s odor as he chopped the wood, and it no longer bothered him greatly. He looked up into the darkening sky and shot off a prayer.

_ Oh mighty Lord, please let everything work out in the end. _

* * *

The rest of that night was uneventful, and so were the few after that. The city was abuzz with talk of Charles II and Oliver Cromwell, and Carlisle soon grew bored of such topics. It seemed like rulers came and went in Britain like it was a game, and the fanfare surrounding the royalty’s exploits seemed old news to Carlisle, especially since God was the only true leader that mattered.

His father preached nonstop, focusing heavily on Satan and the Lord’s mighty wrath, as usual, and Carlisle spent so long kneeling on the floor of the church that his knees had plank-shaped indents in them. 

Today’s sermon, however, strayed away from the direct topic of Satan and more towards his followers.

“Pride. Greed. Lust. Envy. Gluttony. Wrath. Sloth,” his father said while moving around the congregation. “The Seven Deadly Sins. Avoid these, and God will welcome you into his everloving arms. Permit these, and burn for all of eternity while Satan laughs in delight.” He stopped and took a large breath, and Carlisle immediately knew his father wasn’t going to stop talking for a long time.

“Sins can be mortal or venial. You know that. And the Deadly Sins aren’t necessarily one or the other alone. To put it simply, the Deadly Sins lead to mortal offenses. And mortal offensives, without absolution, lead to Hell. For example: say you covet power. Just the coveting alone is a sin, yes, but without action, it is not enough to be damned. This greed, however, will lead you down a dark and dangerous path. Like Anne White! Carlisle, son, can you tell me who Anne White is along with her most grievous offense?”

It was quite common for him to call on Carlisle during sermons, but to be honest, he was caught off guard at the question. He hadn’t spared a thought to Anne White in over a week now.

“Anne White is a witch,” he announced. The congregation gasped in horror. A child let out a whimper.

“Yes. Anne White. Remember her? She came into this very Church! Sat in our pews! Listened to my preachings! She will hang tomorrow at daybreak for witchcraft. She dealt with powers beyond our ken, toyed with the darkest of arts! Exodus 22:18! Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live! What I’m saying is that the devil is everywhere. He is always waiting for even the smallest change to exploit your weaknesses and tempt you into evil!” --Someone in the crowd sobbed-- “But you must abstain! You must throw your entire being into the Lord and His mercy! You must build your life around Him and His ways! You must cast out Satan before you even see him!”

Everyone was nodding their heads and calling out in agreement. Carlisle bowed his head and crossed himself.

His father continued, but Carlisle thought of Anne White. She was only a bit older than him, probably around twenty-five, but she was not married and never even entertained the thought. Her eyes were almost always closed in church, perhaps in thought or prayer (now he suspected in sorcery and visions), and she was often the first to arrive for mass, and the first to leave. No one knew where she resided when not in Church, for she was never seen elsewhere. Despite those oddities, though, Carlisle had always had a relatively high opinion of the woman. She seemed pious and dutiful, if a little headstrong for a woman, and despite her beauty, she seemed humble. He would have never thought of her as a witch if his father hadn’t caught her red-handed. 

But red-handed in what? That was the question.

His father had come storming home one night in a fit of rage, claiming that Anne White was a witch, without a doubt! His father was so mad, in fact, that he never got around to telling Carlisle what exactly led to that sentence. Even now, as he heard his father condemn her to death, the reason behind her accusation escaped both him and the rest of the congregation. This was peculiar; usually, his father told everyone what exactly this person, accused of whatever sinful act, was caught doing as to make a lesson out of them. Either his father was truly afraid and concerned about igniting mass hysteria, or he was threatened to keep his lips sealed. Carlisle frowned. He’d have to discuss this with his father later. Perhaps over dinner. His father was never a pleasure to talk to when his stomach wasn’t satiated. 

As the Apostles Creed began, Carlisle snapped back to attention. Closing his eyes in reverence and hope, he began to recite the familiar words.

“I believe in God, the Father almighty, creator of heaven and earth….”

* * *

“Father,” Carlisle began as they walked back to their house, his hands folded neatly behind his back and his eyes trained away from the suffering, “you never did tell me how you caught Anne White.”

His father sucked in a breath and immediately crossed himself. Ah! He should’ve waited until dinner!

“Carlisle, remind me tomorrow afternoon after the hanging. You must understand, there are things beyond our ken so evil, so diabolical, so…. unnatural that a part of me wanted to shield you from the knowledge of it. Hidden evil seems to entice the most fear in my audiences, but blatant evil entices an even deeper fear in me. God bless the man who comes across someone evil enough where they don’t even fully bother to hide it. You are too weak, Carlisle, too kind. The world is a harsh place that I don’t think you’re ready for. But when I return to God’s kingdom--which I reckon might be sooner rather than later--” he gave Carlisle an unreadable look, “you will have to become a man of God yourself. Continue the Cullen family legacy at the church. I have now realized, you mustn’t be shielded any longer.”

A million responses sat on the tip of his tongue, some defending himself, and others defending the collective people of the world, but he refrained. His father was clearly done with the conversation.

Carlisle reminded his father the next afternoon, but the elder Cullen brushed him off. The same happened the following afternoon, and the several after that. In fact, it was about five months into Carlisle’s twenty-first year when his father, flushed from an hours-long sermon and sacramental wine, gave in to showing Carlisle what he had promised months before.   


* * *

Anne White’s death was quite the spectacle, and he believed his father had pushed back the promise for so long because he was so shaken by the events that transpired that day. Here’s how it all went down:

Before the sun had even begun to rise into the sky, Carlisle was awake. He had slept fitfully all night, his thoughts plagued on the imminent execution. He had gotten dressed, lit a fire, and prayed to the Lord. He had stirred his father awake and readied breakfast, which was a loaf of bread. Then, as his father prayed the rosary, shouting out the Mysteries and rocking back and forth, Carlisle had sat down and methodically tied a noose.

Executions certainly weren’t uncommon; even foreigners knew about the infamous Tower of London, but his neck of the woods, executions were done for less political reasons. It seemed like his father was sentencing someone to death for various religious crimes at least once a month. Sometimes, they burned the perpetrators, chiefly witches, at the stake, and sometimes they hung them. Vampires were staked. When witches were hung, their bodies had to be dealt with. After Anne White took her final breath, it would be Carlisle’s job to disembowel, dismember, and burn her body. His job, not his fathers, because he was interested in medicine, and hoped that one day he could be a doctor as well as a preacher. He could help people both physically and spiritually that way. 

His father joined him in the main room of their house as he finished tying the noose. They then walked outside to the hanging site. Anne White wasn’t going to get a privileged death, she was going to hang on a tree branch, and her head was going to be displayed on a pedestal once it came off. As they walked, members of their community joined them and the sun started to rise in the sky, casting a warm but ominous glow on their surroundings.

As they gathered around the tree, his father stood upon a hill, looking out over his audience, surveying their countenances and what lay yonder.

Then, Anne White had been paraded through the crowd, her filthy dress ripped into rags. Carlisle averted his eyes at first, but then forced them to return. Carlisle handed his father the noose, and his father grabbed it with white knuckles. His father spoke to the people, yelling a familiar tune about sin and punishment and the likes. Carlisle’s eyes were trained upon Anne White’s pale face.

She looked unfrazzled, unafraid. Her eyes were closed softly, and her lips were slightly parted. Has she resigned herself to her fate? Or did she have trust the devil would save her? What looked like dried blood was smeared on her chin and neck. Carlisle discreetly crossed himself, wondering about her sins once more.

Carlisle began to move forward at the sound of her condemnation but was immediately shocked into stopping his steps.

_ By God, _ he thought incredulously, _ she’s reciting the Lord’s Prayer! _

_“_ Our father, who art in heaven….”

Her voice was calm and clear.

“….hallowed be thy name….”

The crowd stood in utter disbelief, cries of outrage were heard.

“….thy kingdom come, they will be done….”

“What are you doing?” his father shrieked, running towards Anne White with the noose, “She lies, she tricks, she must die no matter what!”

“….on Earth, as it is in heaven….”

The men surged forward and crowded her form, throwing the noose around her thin neck. Carlisle fumbled with the saw and dagger in his hands and took a few steps closer, a sharp trepidation rising uncertainly in his belly.

“ ….and give us this day our daily bread….”

Her voice became more frantic and hurried as the other end of the noose was tied to the tree and she was lifted into the air. She was afraid. Carlisle couldn’t help but think if she were to be so frightened of death she shouldn’t have upset God so grievously in life. 

“….and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us….”

“Drop it! Drop the witch!” His father cried and Carlisle rushed forward with his saw and dagger, his heart pounding in his chest.

“….AND LEAD US NOT INTO TEMPTATION AND DELIV-”

She was dropped and the noose tightened around her neck. She swayed back and forth. The crowd was silent. A crow cawed. This was when things began to get truly peculiar.

“Son….” his father prompted, and Carlisle walked up to her corpse. He went to go stab her stomach to get to her insides, mumbling a quick prayer for her soul beneath his breath, but, to his horror, Anne White moved away.

“Demon….” he breathed as the dead woman flopped around like a fish on a hook, clearly alive. Her eyes were open, and he was paralyzed with fear when her  _ evil red eyes _ met his own blue ones. “Demon!” he said louder. The crowd passed into hysterics.

Carlisle lunged forward with the dagger to stab her, but with unbelievable strength and dexterity, she grabbed the dagger from his hand and used it to cut her own noose. Carlisle tried to hack her with the saw, but she dodged and he barely grazed the sleeve on her arm.

His father stood, staring in shock as the crowd began to stampede back towards their houses, shouts of “ _ Lord have mercy!”  _ ringing out. Someone threw a torch at her and as it fell against the brush, lighting nearby leaves on fire in a brilliant flash of orange. Anne White jumped back from the flames as if she had been pulled by the ear by a chastising mother.

Carlisle stood still in terror and surprise, trying and failing to hide the tremor of his body and the lump in his throat.

And then, just like that, she had disappeared with the wind. Someone besides Carlisle fainted, their body sliding in the mud.

Slowly, Carlisle turned to meet the eyes of his father. The sun burned a bright red in the sky, and despite a lack of clouds, it began to rain.

_ The devil’s beating his wife _ , he thought morbidly.

His father's eyes were wide, rageful, and unbelievably unnerved.

Later, he would look at the saw and see the end was bent unnaturally, like her skin was as hard as steel. He would look at the noose and see that it was not cut, like he had previously believed, but ripped from what looked like brute force. His hands shook nonstop for about a week, and his father only didn’t say anything to him because his hands shook as well.

And so, they didn’t breach the topic of the evilest of evils for several months to come.

* * *

The steps leading to the church’s basement were cold and dank. Water seeped through the stone and wet the walls with an eerie sheen, and every step Carlisle and his father took echoed hauntingly. His father’s torch cast odd shadows on the wall, and Carlisle more than once tried to decipher the flames’ shadow, its dance. 

Finally, they arrived in the basement. It was used as a storage space, to Carlisle’s knowledge, so it wasn’t surprising to see old desks, chests, and various other chattels covered in cobwebs. His father coughed loudly into the air, and Carlisle sneezed. They moved through the maze of possessions long retired and came upon a large chest, locked securely. 

“Carlisle,”” he began while pulling a key on a chain out from beneath his tunic, “You are a man now. You have been. Anne White was a creature straight from the depths of hell. A vampire, I suspect. We will be burning everyone from here on out….” he trailed off before returning to what he wanted to tell him, “It is your duty, as a man of God, to help rid our world from this evil. This-” he gestured towards the chest, “-is how.”

He handed him the key and Carlisle felt its cold rust. He took a deep breath and inserted the key into the lock. It clicked open, and he carefully opened the lid of the chest, eyeing its contents.

“ Crucifixes. Stakes. Concoctions. Daggers. Garlic. Mirrors. Holy Water. All those for vampires. Mistletoe, gemstones, fire strikers, and charms for witches. It is your duty to find these Satan worshippers and kill them. You hear me?

His father’s head wasn’t in the right place for this. His speech was slightly slurred and his hand was heavy upon Carlisle’s shoulder.

“ Yes, father,” he replied to ease the older man.

He doubted he would be outright killing these creatures anytime soon. Turn them in, perhaps, but not outright slaughter. Thou shalt not kill.

“Yeah, yeah,” his father coughed again, and Carlisle cringed at the spittle flying onto his cheek, “Your hunter apprenticeship starts now. Find us an evil-doer, and prove to me your strength!”

Carlisle froze.

_ What? _

“Yes, father,” he said numbly.

“Of course! Tell me when you find one! I might even help you along the way.” His father made his way back up the stairs, hacking and heaving as he went.

_ Christ! _ he thought,  _ What am I going to do? _

* * *

_Leviticus 20:27_ “A man or a woman who is a medium or a necromancer shall surely be put to death. They shall be stoned with stones; their blood shall be upon them.”

_ Deuteronomy 18:10-13  _ “There shall not be found among you….a sorcerer or a charmer or a medium or a necromancer or one who inquires of the dead, for whoever does these things is an abomination to the Lord. And because of these abominations the Lord your God is driving them out before you. You shall be blameless before the Lord your God.”

_ Proverbs 25:26 _ “Like a muddied spring or a polluted fountain is a righteous man who gives way before the wicked.”

_ Deuteronomy 28:47-48 _ “Because you did not serve the Lord your God with joyfulness and gladness of heart, because of the abundance of all things, therefore you shall serve your enemies whom the Lord will send against you, in hunger and thirst, in nakedness, and lacking everything. And he will put a yoke of iron on your neck until he has destroyed you.”

_ Matthew 10:7-8 ESV _ “And proclaim as you go, saying, ‘The kingdom of heaven is at hand.’ Heal the sick, raise the dead, cleanse lepers, cast out demons. You received without paying; give without pay.”

_ Jeremiah 17:9 _ “The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately sick; who can understand it?”

  
  


But.....

  
  


_ Proverbs 10:12 _ “Hatred stirs up strife, but love covers all offenses.”

_ James 1:20 _ “For the anger of man does not produce the righteousness of God.”

_ Matthew 5:38-40  _ “You have heard that it was said, ‘Eye for eye, and tooth for tooth.’ But I tell you, do not resist an evil person. If anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to them the other cheek also. And if anyone wants to sue you and take your shirt, hand over your coat as well.”

_ 1 Thessalonians 5:15 _ “Make sure that nobody pays back wrong for wrong, but always strive to do what is good for each other and for everyone else.”

_ Romans 12:19 _ “Beloved, never avenge yourselves, but leave it to the wrath of God, for it is written, “Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord.”

_ Luke 6:35 _ “Instead, love your enemies, do good to them, and lend to them, expecting nothing in return. Then your reward will be great, and you will be children of the Most High, because he is kind even to ungrateful and evil people.”

_ Matthew 5:9 _ “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.”

Why must this be so hard?

* * *

Carlisle was twenty-two when his father finally pressured him enough to go on a witch hunt. He shamefully follows through and sentences nineteen-year-old Niamh Buchanan to a fiery end. She was Irish and rumored to deal with druidic practices. In other words, blasphemy. Carlisle found out she was making potions selling them as ailments to townsfolk.

He would always deny it, but a part of him was interested in these potions from a medical standpoint.

He looked into her hazel eyes as she went up in flames, and tried to bury the overwhelming guilt he felt.

* * *

All the young men like him at church were debating the second Navigation Act furiously. And amidst the growing tensions that he would unknowingly live to accumulate into a revolution, his mind couldn’t stray further from politics. 

Oftentimes he wondered if this truly was the life meant for him. Sometimes, he felt so achingly in his soul that he was meant for something far greater than this church, these people, this world of hate. 

(He will see the end of British presence in what will be the United States of America, but the hateful world will persist long after he is gone).

* * *

A long while from that fateful night where his father revealed Carlisle’s divine duty, he visited the house of a sickly boy. His parents were parishioners at his father’s church for as long as Carlisle could remember, and felt the need to check up on the family during their troubling times.

Little Johnathan Whitmore was stick-thin, pale, and sweaty. His lungs rattled in his chest and his heart beat weakly. Carlisle hated to do it, but he gently broke the news that the boy would soon be with his creator. He stood in the main room of their house as Johnathan’s parents, Agnes and Daniel, bawled. He fiddled with the worn bible in his hands waiting to take his leave.

“Don’t worry,” he tried to counsel, “Johnathan was a holy boy, and is sure to make it to God’s Kingdom. He’ll be waiting for you both there.”

Agnes sobbed even louder, but Daniel, through tears, grasped Carlisle’s hands and thanked him profusely. He took that as his cue to leave the couple alone so they could spend as much time as possible with their dying son.

As he crossed the threshold of the house and stepped onto the cobblestone something caught the corner of his eye. He paid no mind to the horses, pedestrians, and peddlers as he searched for that odd flash he just saw through the dreariness.

His eyes scanned the street, and at first, nothing struck him as out of the ordinary. Then, he saw it again.

A brief flash of scarlet eyes and chocolate hair.

It disappeared once more.

Was that…. Anne White?

His heart started to race.

Carlisle shoved his bible into his coat pocket and ran towards where he last saw her. A large opening to the foul sewers of London lay ahead of him. The second he thought of it, the stench erupted through his nostrils and made him stumble a few feet backwards. A  _ plunk _ echoed from far within the sewer, and Carlisle wanted to cringe away so badly, but instead, he hiked up his pants and waded through the disgusting sewage.

He grabbed a stake from his pocket and gripped it so hard he felt a splinter pierce his skin. 

“Anne?” he called out unsurely, “Anne, I just want to talk.”

His eyebrow twitched furiously and he tried to swallow his fear. He walked further into the sewer. He tried to refrain from breathing through his nose and the breath coming in and out of his mouth felt sickly hot.

“….Anne?”

With a sudden  _ whoosh _ there she was in front of him. It was as if she appeared from thin air. She was wearing the same dirty dress they tried to hang her in, but her beauty still made him double take. Her hair fell perfectly down to her collarbones, untangled and unmatted, contrasting sharply with her clothing. Her face was pale and angular, her nose straight and long, her cheekbones prominent. Her eyes a dangerous red. Carlisle sucked in a deep shuddering breath and stumbled backwards.

“You puzzle me, Carlisle Cullen.” She said, and her voice echoed, “You are somehow both irrevocably corrupted and uncorrupted by your father. Your intentions don’t really match your actions, yet you believe they do.”

“What.... what do you mean?” Carlisle asked, and the splinter in his hand throbbed as he adjusted his grip on the stake. 

Her crimson eyes flitted down at the movement, and she chuckled darkly. “Oh, Carlisle. That won’t kill  _ me. _ ”

She was instantly a foot away from him. Carlisle fell down in shock, his tailbone landing hard in the mucky sewage. She peered down at him with amusement, like a predator laughing at the helplessness of their prey. He gulped at her sinister smirk.

“I thought long and hard about this, Carlisle. Long and hard. It’s been over a year since you tried to kill me, hasn’t it?”

His thoughts were muddled; he couldn’t seem to make a sound beyond pathetic gasping noises, but she seemed to be waiting for a response so he made an effort to force words out.

“‘Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.’ Exodus 22:18.”

She frowned. “I’m not a witch, though. I’m a vampire. Vampir. Vampyr. Vampira. Vāmpayar. Lamia. However you want to say it.”

“A necromancer, then.”

“Hm. I suppose that works. You can’t kill me, though. So too bad.”

Carlisle whined.

“Yes, well. I know your father is truly to blame, but I can’t deny your participation. All I wanted to do was go to church, keep some familiarity from my human life, but no. You two just had to ruin it for me. Your father-- he’s beyond hell-bound. Beyond mercy, beyond redemption. You though.... not so much. But alas, you won’t have any time for such turn arounds.”

“I-” his voice was hoarse, “won’t.... have a-any time?”

“No, Carlisle. You will not.”

She pounced down on him and despite her warnings, he thrust up with the stake. It snapped against her sternum as her pointed teeth met his neck. Carlisle screamed as his skin and muscle tore from bone and his blood spurted from his neck. The pain was all-consuming, and all he could focus on was white-hot agony spreading throughout his body like fire. He barely registered the fact that Anne White had moved away from him and stared at him, her face bloody and malevolent. 

“Look at this! The hunter had become the hunted! Enjoy your ‘sinful’ eternity, Carlisle. See you in Hell.” She disappeared down the sewers.

Carlisle was in pain. Carlisle was defiled. Carlisle was confused. Carlisle was going to become the one thing he pledged to rid the world of.

He screamed in anguish, but no one heard him, nor cared.

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah! This is going to be a series, and I’m so excited for it. I’m going to do all the Cullens, plus their Life and Death counterparts! If you liked it or have any suggestions, drop a kudos, subscription or comment down below.
> 
> Thanks so so so so much for reading. I sincerely hope you have an amazing day/night!


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